Ezra 9 is a heartfelt account of spiritual compromise and divine mercy. After returning to the land, the leaders of Israel approach Ezra with a devastating report: many among the people, including priests and Levites, have intermarried with surrounding pagan nations, defying the clear command of God in the Law. These unions weren’t just about ethnicity; they brought with them the threat of idolatry and diluted worship, undermining Israel’s holy purpose in redemptive history.

Ezekiel 30 is a thunderous warning—a declaration of the Lord’s coming judgment upon Egypt and all who place their trust in her. Though no exact date marks this prophecy, its message is unmistakably part of God's consistent word through Ezekiel. The Lord proclaims a coming “Day of the Lord”—a time of reckoning for Egypt and her allies. Every corner of the nation, from the far northern Migdol to the southern reaches of Aswan, will feel the blow. This is not just a military downfall but a spiritual one. God will dismantle not only Egypt’s political power but also her religious pride, bringing judgment upon her gods and places of worship—Memphis, Zoan, Thebes, Heliopolis, Bubastis, and more.

Tonight’s passage marks a powerful shift in the flow of Job’s story. After three cycles of speeches from Job and his friends, we now meet a new voice—Elihu. The friends have fallen silent because Job maintains his innocence, and rightly so, at least in regard to the accusations they’ve made. But Job, though righteous in the broader sense, has said things in his pain that miss the mark. Elihu doesn’t accuse Job of sin causing his suffering—that was the friends’ mistake. Rather, Elihu is indignant because Job, in his despair, has questioned God’s justice and misrepresented God's heart.

It’s a question that has troubled many sincere believers—especially those who cherish the simplicity of salvation by grace through faith. How do we reconcile the robust call to good works in the book of James with the message of rest and union in Christ found in Paul’s epistles? Was Martin Luther right to call James “an epistle of straw”? And does E. Stanley Jones agree with him? More critically—do these perspectives suggest that James is teaching a different gospel?

E. Stanley Jones draws our attention to the notable absence of the phrase “in Christ” from the Epistle of James. His observation is not to diminish the truth of James’ exhortations but to contrast two different ways of living the Christian life: one driven by human effort, and the other by divine union.

Worry is not just a modern nuisance—it’s a spiritual issue that Scripture addresses head-on. Paul doesn't offer a mild suggestion; he gives a Spirit-inspired command: “Do not be anxious about anything.” And he doesn't leave us without a path forward. He shows us what to do instead: in every situation—whether ordinary or overwhelming—we are to turn to God in prayer, ongoing petition, and thanksgiving.

Today’s reading from Days of Heaven on Earth turns our eyes toward the unexpected classroom of faith: trials. The devotional opens with Psalm 56:3, where David declares that he puts his trust in God when he is afraid. This isn’t a mere mantra—it's a soul-anchored decision in the face of real danger.

At the heart of the New Covenant is not merely pardon—it’s proximity. We were once at a devastating distance from God. Not metaphorically far, but truly, relationally exiled: without Christ, without hope, and without God. We lived cut off from the life of God, blind to His presence, deaf to His voice.

But then grace came.

Oswald Chambers gently lifts our gaze upward today with Revelation 4:1—“Come up here, and I will show you.” He reminds us that spiritual vision doesn't come from emotion but from a personal life rooted in character—Christ’s character worked out in us. It’s not about striving to see more, but yielding to the One who reveals more as we trust and walk in what He’s already shown us.

Today’s entry from Abide Above invites us into one of the deepest mysteries of the Christian life: how God softens sorrow into something beautiful and eternally meaningful. The writer is not romanticizing pain, but revealing that sorrow, when yielded to God, becomes a divine tool—not to punish us, but to prepare us. The sorrow of the world leads only to despair, but godly sorrow opens the door to transformation, depth, and the ability to walk with others in their pain.

Today’s devotional turns our attention to something so magnificent that words almost fall short: every holy and trustworthy thing God has given us is not just from Christ—it is Christ. He Himself is our righteousness, our sanctification, our redemption, our light, our wisdom, and our life. Every term we read in Scripture—like bread of life, living water, Shepherd, spiritual rock, Passover Lamb—is not an object or a gift apart from Him. It is a facet of the person of Jesus given to us as mercy.

Paul begins this chapter by recounting his second trip to Jerusalem, likely 14 years after his conversion. The occasion was not about gaining approval but ensuring unity in the gospel message he had been preaching. The Jerusalem apostles—James, Peter, and John—recognized Paul’s ministry to the Gentiles as divinely ordained and gave him their blessing. Importantly, they did not compel Titus, a Gentile, to be circumcised, confirming that justification comes through faith in Christ alone, not by law-keeping.

John's Gospel opens with breathtaking clarity—Jesus is not just a teacher, prophet, or even a great man. He is the eternal Word who was with God and is God. John doesn’t ease us in gently—he unveils the divine mystery from the start: Jesus is the Light of the world, the Creator of all things, the One through whom life itself exists. This Word, full of grace and truth, became flesh and dwelt among us—not as a shadow or symbol, but in personal, relational presence.

In today’s reflection, E. Stanley Jones explores a crucial distinction: is Christianity merely being with Christ, or truly being in Christ? He presses into this by examining the phrase “in Christ,” most heavily emphasized by the Apostle Paul but certainly not exclusive to him. The weight of Paul’s usage—97 times—compels us to take this reality seriously. Jones emphasizes that this is not merely a Pauline idea or a theological abstraction—it is the only real state of being. Compared to this, all else is illusion.

Philippians 4:2 – “I plead with Euodia and I plead with Syntyche to be of the same mind in the Lord.”

From today’s Immeasurably More devotional by Ray Stedman, we see a gentle yet urgent appeal from Paul that cuts straight to the heart of relational tension. Two women—Euodia and Syntyche—were caught in a disagreement that had begun to affect the broader church in Philippi. Paul doesn’t shame them or take sides. Instead, he calls them back to their common ground in Christ and urges them to agree in the Lord.

Today’s entry from Heaven on Earth points us back to the simplicity and power of grace—reminding us that our journey with Christ is never meant to be sustained by personal effort. We often understand that salvation begins by faith, but somewhere along the road, we begin to operate as if growth depends on us. Simpson gently corrects this: at every stage of our walk, our strength will fall short, our love will be insufficient, and even our courage will fade unless we receive from Christ what only He can supply.

The heart of this devotional speaks to a stark contrast—between those who live by dead religion and those who walk in the living reality of Christ's resurrection. The religious leaders in Acts were deeply disturbed not by mere words, but by the power of a risen Christ being declared through His disciples. These men weren’t teaching abstract doctrine or defending tradition—they were living out and proclaiming the supernatural reality of Jesus’s resurrection. And that supernatural reality remains the bedrock of our faith.

Oswald Chambers wants us to understand that purity isn't merely the innocence of one untouched by sin—it’s the radiant byproduct of an ongoing, intimate walk with Jesus. True purity grows from closeness with God and is sustained over time through that fellowship. He differentiates between our private life with God, which may be vibrant and authentic, and our outward expression of that life, which is exposed to the world and subject to distraction, compromise, or carelessness.

This morning’s reflection from Abide Above centers on how we respond to suffering, especially when it's undeserved. The writer draws our attention to Peter’s words—how God finds it pleasing when we endure injustice for His sake. But the deeper insight is this: when we try to respond rightly by our own strength, our reaction—even if it appears noble—only produces self-righteousness. It’s not Christ being seen, but self polishing itself up.

Today’s eManna devotional opens our eyes to a deep and comforting truth: Christ is not merely the One who gives holy and faithful things—He is those things. He doesn’t just grant wisdom; He is wisdom. He doesn’t merely distribute sanctification; He is sanctification. The devotional draws a long list of what Christ is for us, primarily from 1 Corinthians and the Gospel of John, emphasizing that He is everything we need. And in the Old Testament, these realities were prophetically pictured as “mercies”—a term that surpasses even love and grace. Mercy reaches where love and grace alone cannot go. So when we encounter our need, we do not cry out for something external. We receive Christ, who is the mercy reaching into every crack and crevice of our condition. He is the mercy that doesn't just patch up our lives but indwells us to be our righteousness, redemption, power, food, drink, and life.